


do first impressions really count?

by connorswhisk



Series: omgcp friendship week 2020 [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, and so many people were doing chowder, and would not leave it, but whiskey immediately occupied my brain, i saw the prompt "first impressions", omgcp friendship week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:42:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26449492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorswhisk/pseuds/connorswhisk
Summary: Connor’s not nervous about his first day of school. He’s not. If he were, he would know about it. He would totally know about it.It’s just, you know, first impressions, and all that, his first time talking to his new hockey teammates and other dudes in his grade that he’ll have to see every day for the next four years, but that’s nothing, and he’s not nervous about any of it.
Series: omgcp friendship week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922701
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	do first impressions really count?

Connor’s not nervous about his first day of school. He’s not. If he were, he would know about it. He would totally know about it.

It’s just, you know, _first impressions,_ and all that, his first time talking to his new hockey teammates and other dudes in his grade that he’ll have to see every day for the next four years, but that’s nothing, and he’s _not_ nervous about any of it.

That being said, he is feeling a little unsure about everything their tour guide - _Bitty_ \- is telling them. Connor knows this is university, and he knows that the Haus is essentially just a frat house, but still. Raging parties? Keg flips? Whatever the fuck “Nursey Patrol” is? None of those things really _fit_ Connor.

He’s just not going to belong here. He can feel it. He wonders if it’s too late to go home.

And there’s this other guy, Tango, who keeps asking Bitty all these questions, and when he’s _not_ asking questions, he’s talking Connor’s ear off.

“Yeah, so I’m from Jersey City, my whole family is, and I’ve lived there my whole life, it’s really nice, I think New Jersey sort of gets a bad rep for being dirty and rude but it’s honestly _not that bad,_ and my Mama makes the best garlic bread you’ll ever taste, dude, I’m serious. I’ve heard Bitty bakes, did you hear that? Bitty bakes, right? Anyway, I wanted to give the recipe to him so I could eat it here, too, but Mama says that she’s not sharing her garlic bread recipe with _anyone,_ and I said, ‘But, Ma, I’m gonna miss you so much while I’m at Samwell, I’ll need something to remind me of you,’ and she just said, ‘Tony, I’ll send you garlic bread every week if you want but I’m _not_ letting you give that recipe away,’ but I think she’d change her mind if she met Bitty, I mean he’s really nice and she’d just love him, don’t you think?”

It takes Connor a second to realize that Tango’s done talking, and is looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to answer. Honest to God, Tango must have said all of that in one breath. Connor sort of zoned out.

“Uh,” he says. “Yeah. Sure.”

Tango grins. “Awesome. Or no, wait, _‘swawesome,_ right? That’s what we’re _supposed_ to say, since we’re on the hockey team, isn’t it?”

Connor blinks. “Yeah, I guess.”

He’s not really sure if they’re _supposed_ to say anything. Or at least, if _he’s_ supposed to say anything. The more time Connor spends learning about the rest of the team, and hearing Tango talk and talk like if he stops he’ll pass out, the more Connor feels like he made a stupid decision in coming here. Sure, the guys on his _last_ hockey team were loud and crazy sometimes, but that wasn’t a professional thing. This is more legit. Connor’s at Samwell to _play hockey,_ and even if he doesn’t fit in with his teammates, at least he’ll do well in their games.

Because even if no one likes him, that’s not what's important. It doesn’t matter how they judge his personality and shit, as long as they’re judging him okay on the ice. _That’s_ what he’s here for. _That’s_ what matters. Not making friends. Hockey.

Right?

Tango stops talking to Connor so he can assault Bitty with a fresh barrage of questions, granting Connor’s ears a much-needed reprieve, and he lets his mind wander for a bit, thinking about home, and his family, and his little sister, and his…his _girlfriend._

Maybe he shouldn’t think about her too much.

“So what’s your favorite team?” Tango asks Chowder, and Connor just barely avoids rolling his eyes.

“Fuck the LAX bros!” Nursey announces, and Connor doesn’t really _get_ that, because a couple of the lacrosse dudes helped him find the cafeteria yesterday, and they’d seemed nice enough.

“Your name’s Whiskey, right?” Lardo, the team manager, asks him, and Connor nods and doesn’t say anything.

_Whiskey._ He’s not Connor anymore, he’s _Whiskey,_ because this is hockey, and no one in hockey is named _Connor._

Whiskey’s not bad. Whiskey’s really not that bad. It’s the same nickname he’s had since the seventh grade, and maybe his mother never really liked it, but Connor never minded it _too_ much.

He hopes the others don’t mind it, either. Chowder tries to convince him to change it to _Whiskers,_ and Connor flat-out refuses, but also wonders if the others don’t like his nickname. Then he thinks that he’d probably make a significantly worse first impression if he _was_ called Whiskers, because they’d all be expecting some nice, outgoing, friendly guy, and Connor’s… _not_ that.

But Tango is, and even after the tour, even when they’re out on the ice at the first practice the next day, he _will not stop talking._ Connor wonders if _he’s_ ever self-conscious about his nickname, if _he_ ever worries about girlfriends he’s left back at home, and then thinks, _probably not._

“So anyway,” Tango says, skating next to Connor during laps, and panting slightly as he talks. “Are you going to the first Kegster of the year?”

Connor frowns, focusing more on the ice ahead of him than on Tango. “No. Why would I do that?”

“Well, I just thought,” Tango says, looking confused. “that you’d be there. Everyone else is going to be.”

Connor snorts. “Don’t understand why they’d _want_ to.”

Tango stares at him. “It’s a Kegster,” he says, as if that explains everything.

“Look,” Connor says. “I appreciate you for asking, but I’m really not interested. I don’t like parties.”

“How can you not like parties?” Tango’s eyes are blown wide. “Parties are so _fun!_ You get to talk to people, and dance, and listen to really loud music, and there are drinks, and your name is Whiskey! I _bet_ there’ll be whiskey there, or, I don’t know, maybe just beer, I’m not totally sure how college parties work, but it’ll still be really, _really_ fun, and you can stay up really late and talk to girls!”

Connor feels his jaw tighten but doesn’t say anything.

“And you just _gotta_ go, Whiskey, you _have_ to!” Tango finishes.

Connor skids to a halt on the ice and scowls at him. “I’m not going. Sorry. I wouldn’t even know who to talk to.”

“You can talk to me!” Tango says, also stopping and nodding emphatically. “I mean, we’re friends, right?”

Connor blinks. They are?

“Come _oooooooooon,_ Whiskey. _Please?_ ”

And before Connor's brain registers what he’s doing, he says, “Ok, _fine._ I’ll go.”

Tango grins and opens his mouth to say something, but Coach Hall starts yelling at them for stopping in the middle of warmups, so they keep going.

Maybe Connor still doesn’t want to go to the Kegster, but at least he’ll have Tango to talk to. His…pseudo-friend? Tango must not care about how different he and Connor are if he wants to be friends with him.

Whiskey smiles a tiny bit, in spite of himself, and skates a little faster.


End file.
